


Respite

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-07-31
Updated: 1998-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-20 06:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11330787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Respite

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Respite by Jill

Respite  
Jill Morrison   
<>  
M/K  
In case you haven't already guessed, this story is rated NC-17 for m/m sex. Spoilers for RatB (yes, I *had* to write one;-) Chris Carter, you know you own them, but if you ever change your mind, let me know. *g* Please archive to MKRA; ask my permission before posting elsewhere. As always, comments are appreciated, so let me know what you think.  
Many thanks, as always, to the beta readers and Raven - you guys know why:) 

* * *

Respite  
By Jill

Every time, *every* time he had parted ways with Krycek, he had wanted to see the man dead. Would spend hours dreaming about his death, dreaming about hurting the bastard before he died. But this time, he had not dreamed. Krycek had left him sitting stunned on the floor, a dull pain in his head, his stomach aching. What the man had done wounded Mulder more than any act of violence ever could have. 

Hours later he'd managed to heave himself up onto the couch, staring blankly at the door to his apartment. Scully found him in the same position, eyes empty, still staring at where *he* had been.

For her sake, he had gotten up, spoken, done his best to operate around the fuzz in his brain. And afterwards, he returned to sit there, slumped against the couch, head ringing. He sat there that night, and he had sat there every night since. The conversation swirled through his head, over and over until he thought he would scream. And then he would come to the moment when Krycek's face had softened, and he had leaned in, and Mulder had sat frozen, unbelieving. 

\---He's going to kiss me.---

He remembered his view of the apartment being blocked by the soft curve of Krycek's shoulder, the tiny babydown hairs on his neck glowing in the hallway light. Mulder's eyes had remained open, seeing all of this, as those lips touched his cheek, then touched it again, and then a third time. He had felt the warm moisture of Krycek's tongue, and the pressure of the man's nose as Krycek pressed it against him. All of this memory from a moment no more than a second in duration. 

And then Krycek had stood and left, and Mulder had continued to sit on the floor, his lips aching. 

~~~~~ 

He'd spent the past few days in a sort of waking dream state. There had been the busywork of cleaning up this latest fiasco - getting Scully and himself out of military custody, pacifying Skinner, and then finishing up the paperwork from the case. He had been thankful for all of this; his ability to think was currently as frayed as his nerves.

Mulder stepped into the elevator, pressing the button which would take him to his floor and his apartment. He hated going home now; the past few days his apartment had seemed so *empty*. Rubbing his eyes, Mulder headed down the hallway. He stopped briefly, digging around in his pocket for the keys, and, upon finding them, unlocked the door. He slipped inside, wraithlike in the dim shadows, then closed the door behind him. 

He was concentrating on the need to eat before he fell asleep, and almost didn't see the small square of white paper lying in the foyer.

The world slowed around him and stopped. And Krycek stepped out of the shadows to stand before him. 

He was real, and he was really there, standing in his dirty denim jeans, dirtier shirt, shifting his weight from boot to boot. His gaze locked with Mulder's, wavered, then locked again and held. Silence emanated from them in waves, rippling outward to pool at the corners of the room. Krycek's eyes flickered, flirted with his, twin liquid pools of green, then slid from Mulder's view to rest staring at some point on the floor. His face tightened, relaxed, tightened.

"Mulder," he whispered. 

And his head snapped back up as if startled by his own words, and once more that piercing gaze was locked with Mulder's own. Mulder watched with the stillness of the dead as Krycek's mouth twisted into something that should have been a smile, except it sent a sharp, stabbing pain into his gut. A single, wet track of saltwater trailed down Krycek's cheek and Mulder stepped closer until the gap between them was closed. 

He was aware that he reached out to tilt Krycek's chin toward his own.

Their mouths met, and they stood still. Finally, Mulder parted his lips, breathing softly onto the mouth of the other man. He took Krycek's bottom lip between his own, carefully pulling on it, testing Krycek's response. Slowly, the kiss deepened and Mulder tasted the salty tang of Krycek's tears as they rolled down his face. Krycek tasted them too, must have tasted them, because his tongue slipped through his lips to meet Mulder's, hesitant at first, then finally soft, yielding, pliant.

Mulder gasped at its touch, pulling back, confused by the sudden weakness in his body. There was a blur of movement as Krycek's single hand caught the front of his jacket, twisting there as would that of a small, frightened child's. The gesture sent pain arcing through Mulder's body, and he reached around, finally, to hold Krycek, the need to *protect* the other man, even after all he had done to Mulder, an agony in its own right. 

Krycek spasmed, a tense shudder rippling through his body, and he pressed closer to Mulder. He turned his head, his cheek, and then his forehead, resting it against Mulder's lips until Mulder pressed it into the hollow of his neck. He held Krycek there, running his hands along the man's back, soothing him, frighteningly close to tears himself, although he wasn't sure why. 

\---And he thought he'd hated this man.---

Krycek was kissing him, his mouth pulling at the smooth skin of Mulder's neck as Mulder wrapped him more tightly into his embrace. The heat of the other man against his body was intoxicating. Had it only been four days ago that Krycek had held a gun on him? Mulder ran his fingers up and down the warm skin of Krycek's exposed neck, relaxing knotted muscle, playing with the spiky hairs at the base of his skull.

They both stilled, and Mulder cupped his hands around Krycek's chin, raising it until the man was staring him in the eye. Mulder had never seen Krycek's face so unguarded, and he had the sudden, unsettling feeling that the man was naked. He let his hands drop, tracing his fingers down Krycek's smooth neck, playing them lightly along his collar bone, and then down lower until he took Krycek's one hand between his own. 

Neither of them spoke, and Mulder turned slowly, leading Krycek into the bedroom. 

~~~~~ 

Once inside, Mulder leaned Krycek's head on his shoulder yet again, and began to undress the other man. It seemed as if the entire world had fallen silent for them - although cars must have been passing on the street outside, although somewhere, surely, a tenant was playing his stereo too loudly, none of these noises reached the ears of the men in apartment 42.

Krycek, who had learned never to cry loudly, was now completely silent, and the only sound was the creaking of his leather jacket as Mulder pulled it gently from first one arm, then the other, and dropped it on the floor. A sweet, musky scent filled the room as Mulder began to work on Krycek's shirt, lifting it from his body, stirring up the fear-sweat and lust-sweat that coated the fabric. 

He was halted by the gentle pressure of Krycek's hand on his back. He turned his head, looking at the other man, whose eyes gleamed green against his shoulder. Krycek's meaning was clear. Mulder stood still as Krycek began to strip him of his own coat, folding it awkwardly before placing it on the cluttered seat of a chair. His shirt followed next, Krycek brushing away Mulder's help, eyebrows knitting together in concentration as he undid the buttons one handed. Finally Mulder's shirt joined his suit jacket on the chair, and he stood, allowing Krycek to stare at his chest. His skin gleamed in the combined illumination of moonlight and streetlight, glowing with a faintly pearlescent sheen. Slowly, cautiously, Krycek reached out, and Mulder felt his fingers trail lightly over his nipples, down his chest, then hook and curve around the waistband of his pants, resting there before the touch was withdrawn. The hair on his arms and neck rose, small goosebumps tracking down his skin. 

He raised his eyes to find Krycek staring at him, an internal struggle waging war with his serenely beautiful face. Mulder never took his eyes off of that face as he waited patiently for Krycek to make his decision. 

Finally Krycek nodded, a thin mist of sweat covering his brow, and Mulder stepped forward. He caught Krycek's shirt firmly in both hands, and lifted it carefully from Krycek's body. He ran his hands along Krycek's shoulders, and neither of them could watch as Mulder slowly removed the prosthetic limb. Krycek stood still throughout all of this, head turned to the side, but when Mulder lifted the limb away from his body, he gasped, shoulders heaving, and then was still again. Mulder felt his face twist into a grimace, and now *he* stood, waiting for some sign from Krycek. 

Moments passed into decades before Krycek's fingers tickled across his cheek, turning his face forward, permitting him to look.

The stump lay against his side, scarred, deformed, severed brutally above the elbow. Four days ago, he had tried to convince himself that he was happy about this, that the man before him had deserved it, and more. But now he looked at Krycek, and he shook. Krycek smiled, an apologetic excuse for happiness, then reached out to Mulder.

~~~~~ 

It was nothing after that hurdle had been leaped. Krycek had knelt first, deftly undoing Mulder's belt, then slipping his pants down over his legs. Mulder followed his lead, and then they were free, the cool night air kissing their bodies as they embraced, stroking their hands over strong backs and arms. Krycek bowed his head, trailing feather soft kisses along Mulder's collarbone and shoulders, leaving his skin tingling and aching from the contact. 

Mulder pressed the man tightly against his own body, running his fingers along the ridges of muscle in Krycek's back, tickling, soothing the nerves there. Wordlessly, he played his fingers through the closely cropped hair, longer than when he had last seen Krycek, silky smooth now that the severe military cut had grown out. He molded his palms around Krycek's sleek little skull, pressing his thumbs into the corners of his eyelids, then bending in to kiss the ridge of his brow. Krycek ran his single hand along the hollow of Mulder's back, curling his long fingers around Mulder's neck, drawing him even closer. Krycek tightened his grip as their tongues met, and this time Mulder could feel his other arm, or what was left of it, move in concert with its uninjured twin. He choked, gagging on the kiss, and Krycek drew back, the look on his face so raw Mulder hurt *for* him. Slowly, he knelt down, then trailed his tongue along the scar tissue there. Krycek hissed, tried to draw back, but Mulder kept his grip firm, forcing Krycek to comply. Finally the man stilled, and Mulder kissed his arm again and again, until he felt the tension drain from Krycek's back. Only then did he straighten up.

This time, when they kissed, neither of them withdrew, and Mulder's body began the long, slow melt into desire. He pressed his tongue deeper into Krycek's mouth, tasting him, playing it along the other man's teeth, warmth slowly suffusing his body. All the while he was backing Krycek up, moving him slowly toward the bed, then pressing him down onto the mattress. Krycek sank, his body pale, boneless, as Mulder shoved debris from the heavy comforter onto the floor. Then he began to peel back the sheets, slipping Krycek under them as if he were a rag doll lying limp in Mulder's hands. Krycek had shut his eyes, his face relaxed, composed. 

Mulder's eyes raked over Krycek as he lay sprawled across Mulder's bed. He was reeling, and a strange burning had ignited in his brain. 

\---"Krycek," he'd said. "You're a liar, a murderer, and a coward."---

And yet he was here, under Mulder's hands, Mulder's mouth, and Mulder could not stop himself from doing these things to him. Krycek had broken into his apartment, threatened him, kissed him. And thereby rendered Mulder useless to the world. Krycek's breathes came out in short, stunted pants as Mulder ran his tongue up the inside of the man's thigh, tasting the salt-musk ambrosia of Krycek's body. His hands slipped along the outside of Krycek's legs, smoothing over the wiry hairs, sliding up toward his torso before tracing back down to meet his mouth. Krycek writhed under him, hand twisting and grasping at the bedsheets, legs kicking out at nothing. 

Krycek watched dazed as Mulder stood, and the ghost of a smile crossed his lips. And then Mulder leaned over him, gently covering Krycek's body with his own. 

Krycek's eyelids flickered, his lips parted, and Mulder could feel his pulse quicken as he blanketed the man with his own body. He lowered himself slowly, running his hands along the smooth muscles of Krycek's stomach as he went. The man beneath him moaned softly, his breath tickling Mulder's shoulder. Slowly he leaned down and took the man's mouth with his own. Mulder could feel Krycek's erection swelling against his stomach, the skin satin soft and so hard. 

He pressed his hips into Krycek, loving the feel of the man's thighs as they circled his own waist. Krycek brought his hand up to Mulder's back, caressing the man on top of him, fingers sliding across smooth, unblemished skin. 

"*Mulder*," Krycek gasped. 

Mulder covered Krycek's mouth with his own, slipping his tongue in between welcoming lips, his breath sweet, heated. He brought his hands up, cupping Krycek's small, precise chin as he kissed the man, loving the way Krycek's prickly whiskers slowly faded into the silky hair near his ears. Krycek's one hand pressed against Mulder's own, pulling it away from his chin, and Mulder twined his fingers through Krycek's. Mulder watched, eyes dilated as Krycek brought his hand to his mouth, and kissed it. 

And then Mulder couldn't wait, he was kissing his way down Krycek's soft, warm chest, down lower, following the trail of scented hair to the place where torso meets waist. He sleeked his hands down Krycek's flanks. Where there had been a layer of fat, smooth to the touch, he now found a thin layer of skin stretched tightly over Krycek's ribcage. Mulder swallowed; he hadn't wanted *this* to happen to Krycek, not *really*, not ever. 

He ducked between Krycek's legs, gripping him gently by the waist, then lowered his head. Krycek spasmed when Mulder's breath tickled across his erection, and lifted himself up off the bed, trying to give Mulder the best access possible. Mulder stared across Krycek's heaving stomach, his eyes searching the dark for twin emerald orbs, and locking upon them. He lowered his gaze to Krycek's erect penis, letting the tip of his tongue dance slowly across his lips. Krycek's head fell back against the mattress, and he moaned, pressing his body down toward Mulder's. Mulder smiled then, moving as if to take Krycek's member between his lips, then, at the last second, diving lower. 

His tongue danced around Krycek's puckered flesh, tasting the earthy scent of the man above. Krycek had moaned upon its first contact, and now he lay on the bed, a whimpering pile of flesh, as Mulder probed deeper into him. He lapped at the tight ring of muscle before him, swirling his tongue against its confines. It tensed around the tip of him, then slowly, slowly began to open, to allow him further access. Krycek tasted wonderful to Mulder, musky and dark, as he slipped inside. 

Mulder pressed his head into Krycek's groin, moving as far into the man as he could. His tongue twitched and twisted inside Krycek, tasting him everywhere. Mulder's hands gripped the bedsheets on either side of Krycek's thighs, tangling in the fabric. The bed below him heaved, and he opened his eyes to find Krycek's hand moving toward his erection. Mulder's pulse quickened, a thin film of sweat covered his brow. He wanted nothing more than to watch Krycek's hand moving along his cock. But Krycek's hand reached his cock, passed it, and continued down to twine in Mulder's hair. His fingers clenched and released in concert with the thrusts of Mulder's tongue, and he closed his eyes yet again, intent on his work. 

Krycek gasped, a quick exhalation of breath escaping into the night, and then thick ribbons of seed were spilling out of his cock, to fall glistening and white along the pale expanse of his chest. Krycek's internal muscles clenched around Mulder's tongue, and Mulder gasped himself at the sensation.

And then it was over, and he leaned his head against Krycek's warm thigh, breathing deeply. Krycek's fingers trailed along his brow, and he looked up, eyes meeting those of the man above him. What he saw there took his breath away.

"Are you sure?" he asked slowly. 

Krycek nodded in reply.

Mulder raised himself on weak arms as Krycek shifted on the bed below him, his legs covering Mulder's shoulders. His eyes locked with Mulder's, and Mulder's heart beat faster at what he saw there.

"You know, if it was in my best interest, I would just as soon as squeeze this trigger..." Krycek had said four days ago. 

\---*Liar*--- Mulder thought as he pressed into the man below him. 

Krycek moaned, bucked, twisted around his penis, and now it was Mulder's turn to gasp, to writhe with the agony of what he was feeling. He pressed into Krycek, using his thighs and buttocks to give strength to his thrusts. Krycek's head was thrown back into the pillows, and he lay still, eyes closed, as Mulder's gaze raked over him. Semen and sweat glistened on his heaving stomach, pooling in the narrow cavity of his chest, wet tracks of liquid slipping down to his navel. 

Mulder raised one hand from where it had lain braced against the bed, and ran it through the liquid on Krycek's chest. Slowly, he brought the finger to his mouth, tasting it. And then he lowered his head, still thrusting into the man below, and lapped at the man's stomach. 

Krycek was groaning now, his hand sliding along his chest down to Mulder's head, tracing along Mulder's neck, his shoulder, his back. Mulder pressed deeper into Krycek, sheathing himself to the hilt in the other man, gasping as Krycek clenched his internal muscles around Mulder's penis. 

Mulder lowered himself until he was lying across the man below him, sliding against his moist chest. He reached out to take Krycek's hand in his own, fingers twining around the other man's, then loosening and twining again. His mouth found Krycek's and closed around it. Krycek lay under him, a strong, warm, physical presence that illustrated the worthlessness of all the nights he'd spent alone in fear and hate. 

The pace of their lovemaking quickened to a fever pitch, and then Mulder exploded into the man below, and his hand tightened around Krycek's with bone shattering strength.

They lay together for the rest of the night, wrapped in the dark and the shadows and the warmth of human skin.

~FINIS~

Jill Made This!  
  
(c) March 28, 1998 


End file.
